


and you’re jumping into the middle of it

by refectory



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Andrew is Medusa, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/refectory/pseuds/refectory
Summary: Neil's running, Andrew is a monster, and nothing has changed.





	and you’re jumping into the middle of it

**Author's Note:**

> I am pretty sure we have a Medusa AU already but take another one

 

> _Imagine:_
> 
> _Someone’s pulling a gun, and you’re jumping into the middle of it._
> 
> _You didn’t think you’d feel this way._

 

*** * ***

 

The sun sunk low, a purple darkness steadily shaving away at whatever light remained. Neil was running out of time. He’d blown through the only town for miles; after discovering statues of several gods in the middle of town square, Neil knew he couldn’t linger. The devout couldn’t be trusted, his mother taught him that much.

His feet felt raw. Every step felt like the absolute last he could endure, but rest wasn’t an option. If he sat down to catch his breath or rest his bloody soles, the sun would wink it’s farewell and Neil would…

Well.

There was a temple at the crest of a hill, bathed in the orange light of sunset like an invitation. As if it was wished there. Mary’s cold presence in the back of Neil’s head screamed louder — the faithful were puppets, they couldn’t help. His chances of surviving were better gambled against the dark.

Neil blocked her out. She wasn’t here to see what he saw. The temple was in ruins: moss and vines grew from cracks in the marble and stone, scaling up the walls. Greenery swallowed the large owl carved at the front — the mark of Athena, and the final push for Neil. No one who worshipped Athena would allow that.

This temple was empty.

Neil pushed himself up the hill using willpower alone. Closer, the temple looked even worse. It was definitely in ruins. Neil wasn’t sure if it was safe to sleep in, as the roof was cobwebbed with gaps and the heavy stone door was firmly shut.

No, humans couldn’t live here, or pray here, or sacrifice here, and no god would lower themselves to walk on the wet, mossy floors.

Neil set his shoulder against the door, pushing until it dragged open. In the silence, the high-pitched groaning of the stone was painfully loud. Inside was empty — no one to disturb out of sleep, this was obvious from the outside. Neil couldn’t rest yet. He used flint and steel from his pockets to light every candle he could see, taking paranoid glances out windows to check on the sun, but they were so dirty it was impossible to see out of them. Neil relied on his internal clock, working faster.

He opened a cut on his arm and wrote protective sigils on the walls to guarantee nothing could come in while he slept. He barely finished when his arm was twisted, and someone slammed Neil into the wall.

“Oh, a visitor! You people never learn.“

Neil grunted, trying to throw the person off. They didn’t budge an inch. He had to be a demigod, then, or worse — like Lola.

But whoever this was, Neil didn’t recognize them. A new lackey? That wasn't characteristic of his father. After all, he kept things in the family, resenting strangers who tried to interfere.

The hissing made Neil freeze. It sounded like… snakes. A  _lot_  of snakes.

A puff of breath brushed past him, a facsimile of a laugh. “They did not tell you everything, I see, for the snakes to surprise you. Or did you forget about them? Such stupidity wouldn’t be new."

Neil gritted his teeth. His arm was still bleeding. He could —  _could_  — use magic, but his connection to Hecate was diluted. His mother was the witch. Neil’s powers were subtler, and useless with the candles lit up, the sunlight runes scattered on the walls. This person spoke as if Neil should know him.

So did he?

No. No, he didn’t. Neil would remember a grip like this.

“Get off me,” Neil snarled, attempting to jerk his shoulder away. His nose ground against the stone as he was shoved harder.

"Who sent you?”

“What? No one sent me!”

“I am not so stupid to believe you. I said, who sent you?”

“Why would anyone send me? I’m nothing, I was just looking for somewhere to— shit!”

Neil’s arm was twisted further. The voice still sounded bored. “I’ve heard this one before. I am not so generous as to let a stranger sleep in my home only for him to try and kill me in the night. You should give up while you’re ahead.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Neil snapped, blindly kicking out his leg. Sadly, he missed. “And I don’t know why people keep trying to kill you, but if this is how you greet strangers I’m beginning to understand the urge, asshole!”

A small forked tongue flicked against his cheek. Neil froze, reminded of the snakes. Were they around this man’s shoulders? So close? He wouldn’t let venomous snakes near his face, would he?

“If you’re so confident you don’t know who I am,” said the man, mocking, “why not face me?”

Before Neil could comment on the impossibility, he was released. Neil whirled around instantly, eyes cutting to the exit — the heavy door. The windows were covered in vines. Usually his divine blood gave Neil an edge over others, but this person was stronger than him: who knew what else was up his sleeves?

Reminded of the primary threat, Neil looked at his attacker. He was smaller than Neil — a novelty by itself — wearing a chiton made out of dark fabric. He was pale,  _probably from all the skulking around in the dark he did,_ Neil thought uncharitably, and had a full head of writhing black-and-yellow tree snakes.

The man stood a safe distance from Neil, arms crossed over his chest. One hand stroked along the leather gauntlets he wore. They looked full. Weapons? Was he armed? Neil’s chances of surviving suddenly tasted bitter.

“I told you to face me,” said the man.

“You have — snakes,” said Neil, before viciously biting down on his tongue.

“What about them?” He replied flatly. The snakes let out a discordant cry. “I notice you have not looked me in the eye. Is there a reason? A lack of manners? An awareness?”

An  _awareness_? Neil put that aside to judge later. For now, his sheer need to be contrary won out over self-preservation, and he lifted his chin and stared his attacker in the eyes. They were hazel. Nothing special, but still more striking than Neil’s purposeful brown. A gift from his mother: a sheen of magic that covered Neil’s real color.

The man flinched back. The snakes grew louder. Neil’s question if the man was armed was answered when he found a knife at his throat.

The man peeled his lips back from his teeth, completely feral, yet his voice was controlled when he asked, “Who the fuck are you.”

“No one,” Neil tried, only to try again when the knife cut into him, “Neil! I’m Neil Josten!”

“Which kingdom do you belong to?”

“What — a kingdom?” Neil spluttered, “I’ve never even seen a castle before.”

“Then you’re a pawn of the gods. That makes sense. Who else could be responsible for…” Their eyes met again. Neil couldn’t read the flurry of emotions passing through them, but he was wary nonetheless. “You’re a demigod, which is obvious. You would have to be just to open the door. Tell me your parent.”

“I’m not a—”

“Would you lie to me with a knife on your jugular?”

Neil would. Lying was something of a bad habit of his. If this man lived in this temple only to let it fall into disrepair, he couldn’t be fond of the pantheon. This was Athena’s place, one of the sacred. Neil couldn’t tell him the truth and hope he’d be intimidated into letting Neil go. In fact, honesty seemed like the surefire way to get his throat sliced open.

So, Neil said, “Momus! My father is — that’s him, it’s Momus.”

“God of mockery,” he said thoughtfully, “It makes a certain amount of sense. What better way to mock me than to send his curiously immune son to my home?”

“What exactly do you think I’m immune to?” Neil asked, smiling thinly. “Your shitty attitude?”

The man blinked. “I believe you,” He said. The knife slipped back into his gauntlets. Neil couldn’t resist. He said, “Do you have sheaths in there, or are you trying to kill yourself?”

“There is no need to convince me further of your parentage.”

“I’m not. I am just pointing it out. So — you aren’t going to kill me?”

“That depends. Are you going to kill me?”

Neil shot him a look. “Do I need to in order to get a moment of peace? Because I’d rather avoid it.”

That seemed to do it. The man stepped back again, his body still rigid with tension but not a worrying amount of violence. Neil wasn’t in danger unless he put himself there. He jerked his chin over Neil’s shoulder, asking, “And what’s the story behind your crafts project?”

Neil considered his words carefully. “They are protection runes. To keep people out.”

“You have a need for it?’

“I’m not fond of being hassled, no.”

“Hm. Okay.“ He tilted his head. Neil didn’t enjoy the silhouette. With the snakes and all. "Andrew.”

Neil blinked owlishly. “What?”

“My name, fool. I do have one.”

“Obviously. I just wasn't—” Neil sighed frustratedly. He didn’t know what this guy’s problem was, but if it meant he could stay the night, Neil could put up with it. He met Andrew’s eyes challengingly. “Nice to meet you, Andrew.”

Andrew’s lips curled up. Even that had an edge. The snakes were knotted up, docile, or presenting themselves as such. Neil didn’t trust it. Neil didn’t trust any of this.

“I have a feeling that you are a pathological liar, Neil Josten.”

Neil, unwilling to risk it, stared emptily back at him. Andrew looked away first, something complicated flashing through his face. “Be out by morning light,” Andrew told him, and stormed into the secluded priest’s room, slamming the wooden door behind him. The lock clicking into place echoed.

Nothing more to be done, Neil laid down beneath a bench, and settled in for a restless night’s sleep.


End file.
